


And All The Realms As Recompense

by LittleMissLiesmith



Category: Harvest Moon: Animal Parade, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: (but not really), ACTUALLY IN CHARACTER PEOPLE, All of the fluff in the world, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Infinity Gems, Loki's Kids, M/M, Malekith takes social cues from the White Witch, Rare Pairings, Rated T for language, a lot of expies, but if you're on ao3 and don't know what fuck means we have a bigger problem here, enchanted food, expies, no seriously fluff, now with 100percent less OOC character bashing!, rare fandom, yet still a lot of fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-21
Updated: 2017-09-19
Packaged: 2018-01-13 07:29:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1217680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleMissLiesmith/pseuds/LittleMissLiesmith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"Strange visitors, new stars, and an inexplicable event of apocalyptic proportions...We are indeed in trouble..."</i>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>It was a quarter past eight on what had been shaping up to be a perfectly ordinary Saturday when Renee’s future husband fell out of the sky, rolled off of the roof of the chicken coop, and had his landing soundly cushioned by the vegetable garden.</p><p>--</p><p>Cleaned up and edited from the old "White Houses" version. Now with 100% less pointless character bashing, entirely more character development, and zany schemes being foiled by small children and cats.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Cabbage Patchwork, or, Renee and the Stranger

**Author's Note:**

> Quite different from the old White Houses version of this story. I promise less character basing and less OOC just in general; it's been three years, my writing is much improved, yet I think the basis for this story wasn't half bad, not to mention fluff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is far from the first thing I've written but it's one of the first I've published. All comments and criticisms welcome!

_Come on. Sit down, and I’ll tell you a story._

_Once upon a time, a young man fell off a bridge._

_…What? No. This is a happy story, I said…I never said that? Well, now I have._

_Once upon a time a young man fell off a bridge…no, he didn’t die…yes, I promise. Yes, I’m sure._

_I said I’m sure._

_Yes! Okay? He’s fine._

_…I know because this is_ my _story. I’m in charge._

_Now sit down and listen or it’s bedtime for fussbudgets._

_…Good._

_Once upon a time, a young man fell off a bridge…_

-O-

 

It was a quarter past eight on what had been shaping up to be a perfectly ordinary Saturday when Renee’s future husband fell out of the sky, rolled off of the roof of the chicken coop, and had his landing soundly cushioned by the vegetable garden.

Renee, being the sort of sensible girl who knew that, while aesthetically pleasing, handsome men falling from the sky was not normal, ran outside to see what exactly _that_ was about. There was a roughly man-sized dent in the tin on the roof of the coop, and a dark-haired man in a crumpled heap in the cabbage-patch.

Renee blinked, rubbed her eyes, and, when it didn’t disappear like any self-respecting hallucination, hauled up the man and half-carried, half-dragged him into her house.

Ten minutes later when her father came in from the fields, his daughter was not mending her apron but was instead scrambling eggs, and a man with pale skin and green eyes was sitting at his kitchen table, in his jeans and Hana’s sweatshirt with a cartoon bumblebee on it, clutching a mug of tea like a lifeline.

“Hello,” said Renee’s father, whose name was Cain. “Are those my pants?”

Renee shrugged. “I couldn’t let him keep wearing what he got here in. You should’ve seen it, Dad, it was right out of a movie.”

Cain picked up the phone, dialed Mayor Hamilton, and pleasantly asked him if he could come down to Horne Ranch, please, as a man had—how did he get here, Renee?—fallen into the vegetable garden. Yes, from the sky, and if he could come as soon as possible, yes, thank you.

Fifteen minutes later still, when Mayor Hamilton arrived with Owen in tow (strange men don’t just _fall from the sky, Cain_ , he could be dangerous and Owen at least looks intimidating even if he has the personality of a five year old on methamphetamine!), Cain was drinking orange juice with his daughter and the stranger and having a rather one-sided conversation. The man, who might have been taller even than Cain standing up, rivalling Owen, was hunched in on himself and looked very small indeed.

“Hello,” said Hamilton, as pleasant as he ever was. Owen leaned his hammer against the cupboard and sat in the chair that remained empty, across from the stranger. “Do you have a name?”

The man just stared at him for a moment. “…Do you?” he finally replied. His voice weas like velvet.

“Mayor Hamilton. This is Owen.”

The stranger stared for another second, then seemed to curl in on himself further. “…Loki.”

“You didn’t tell me that,” said Renee, sounding vaguely hurt.

“You did not ask.” He sipped his tea and looked nonchalant.

“How did you come to be in our dear Renee’s garden?” asked Hamilton.

“I fell.” He did not elaborate. The phrase “like talking to a brick wall” came to mind.

“From where?” Renee prompted, resting a small hand on his wrist.

He seemed to relax at her involvement. “I—where is this place?”

“The isle of Castanet,” said Renee cheerily. “Harmonica Town. On the southern coast.”

The man blinked very slow. “On M—Earth? I am on Earth?”

“Where else?”

He stared into his tea. “You would not believe me if I told you. Or perhaps you would. I am not sure which is worse.”

Renee patted his wrist.

“Hey,” Owen said after a moment’s awkward silence, “did it hurt?”

The man blinked at him. “Pardon?”

Owen’s grin was lecherous, but his eyes were alight with playful mischief. “When you fell from heaven.”

All was silent in the kitchen. Then the man—Loki—began to laugh. Soft, hiccup-like giggles at first, then full-bellied laughter until he had to lay his head down on the table. His strange glee at the overused joke sent the other four into hysterics as well.

 When his laugh dissolved into actual hiccups, Loki had uncurled in his chair. He looked almost at ease in the kitchen.

 

-O-

 

Loki stayed with Renee and her parents for two weeks and slept on the couch.

Jin stopped by on the second day and determined he had suffered very little injury during his actual fall onto the roof. Once Loki had followed Renee outside to collect the eggs, his expression grew concerned and he confided in Cain. Loki had not sustained any injury during the fall, but he had many bruises only some days old, a few half-healed lacerations, and some odd patterns of healed injuries.

“It doesn’t make him a danger,” he assured Cain. “But he may be _in_ danger.”

No danger came the next day, though. Loki did not seem to have any desire to leave the ranch. He was quiet and polite; he ate very little, and wore Cain’s castoffs. He also seemed to have grown attached to Hana’s bumblebee sweatshirt, and she seemed inclined to let him keep it.

One week after Loki fell from the sky, Cain took him up the road to the abandoned farm. Loki, who had spent the week helping Renee with her chores, seemed amicable to the idea Cain proposed—that he take over the old place as his own.

There was paperwork to be done, of course. The previous owner, Molly, had left several years ago and no one had done any upkeep since. The property was wild and untamed, the house and facilities in disrepair. Loki seemed fine with it.

Renee helped him move in the few possessions he had collected. The house had two rooms on the lower level, the entrance room with a full kitchen, and a single room on the upper level. Loki had a cardboard box of cast-off clothing from Owen and Calvin, a pair of gloves and a sunhat, a set of hand gardening tools, and a small baggie of hairtyes for his ponytail. The house had the kitchen’s built-in implements, a single folding chair, a rickety table, and shelves built into the second room.

Renee brought along a quilt and a futon. Loki set them up in the corner and politely thanked her for her assistance. That night, Cain stocked the shed with a full set of tools and a small amount of seeds in burlap bags, and placed a notice on the message board outside Town Hall announcing the resident and inviting gifts and overtures of friendship. When Renee stopped by with a fresh loaf of bread his first day in the house, she saw that while the furniture situation was still poor, Loki had a wide variety of home-cooked meals (mainly casseroles) in his fridge and looked a little overwhelmed by it all.

Renee left the bread on the kitchen counter and went to report back to her father that Loki was starting to settle in. He’d be pleased, most likely. Cain had been very excited since he arrived. More than usual.

And hey, it seemed like he would fit right in with the community.


	2. New Arrival, or, How Loki Got His Groove Just In General

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you did not notice that this story has been updated, the first chapter is completely revamped, as the whole story is. The base plot will be the same but my writing skills have greatly improved over the last three years and I want to try doing a better version of this story, which had a decent plot.

Okay. So the thing was, he’d _had_ a plan. Several plans, actually, contingent on what might happen once he returned to Asgard. He’d even had a contingency for “exile to Midgard” that he hadn’t thought he would have to use.

However, there are always…obstacles.

Loki had _not_ had a plan for “exiled to a tiny island on Midgard, with no magic, and possibly mortal”. It seemed as though he’d have _plenty_ of time to come up with one.

The no-magic thing was…frustrating, to say the least. He could feel that the island itself had _magic_. If he was so inclined he could probably even learn to harness that. It wouldn’t be as precise and controlled as his own powers, or as encompassing a skill set, but it would be something.

He didn’t intend to stay that long, though. He’d just have to come up with a new plan. Or several. Just in case.

The mortal family that took him in seemed pleasant enough, and they were alright as mortals went. Loki would want to be off-planet before Thanos came knocking, but perhaps he could try to get them off, too, as thanks.

Here was the catch, though. The days on Midgard were spinning by quickly. He wasn’t entirely sure _how_ he’d ended up in a run-down farmhouse with a limitless supply of corn-chicken casseroles and strange, cheerful people in a constant stream outside his door.

He could work with this. A place of his own would be better to come up with plans in, anyway.

…It would require some work, first. And maybe clothes he didn’t have to cuff and safety-pin. Honestly, whoever was providing his pants now must have been bigger than Th—

Him. Bigger than him.

And if Loki pulled the bumblebee sweatshirt over his head every morning, well, that was no one’s business but his.

 

-O-

 

The town had no library that Loki could find. The school had a map of the island, but nothing to indicate where it might be relative to the rest of Midgard. He borrowed a map anyway and hung it up in his “library” of empty shelves.

He found the bar easily enough. The town was charming, really—tiered, colorful buildings, pavilions with fountains and plants, white stone roads and rooftop gardens. The bar was on the first “level”, a light yellow building with dull green accents and a sign written in English and another language, one Loki didn’t recognize. (That was new. Even with the Allspeak, he knew plenty of languages from Midgard as well as he did from any other realm. He would have to look into that.) The English writing proclaimed it the “Brass Bar”, and a few nights after moving into the house and its leaky roof, Loki made his way down to the yellow building and stepped inside.

It wasn’t much like bars on Asgard, a fact which Loki squashed down his gratitude for. It was small and dark, with a raised platform and an upright piano. A few empty tables sat in front of the platform, and at the end of the bar, three of four stools were already taken—a curvy girl with a think blond ponytail, someone androgynous with purple hair and a plaid skirt, and the man Loki had met the day he fell, whose clothes he was now wearing; Owen.

He took the empty seat closest to the right wall, next to Owen. The bartender (who wouldn’t have looked out of place among one of Asgard’s merry band of misfit soldiers—but he shut that thought right down) looked up.

“What can I get’cha?” asked the bartender, leaning over the counter.

“Mm…something strong, on the rocks.”

He nodded and started preparing the drink. Loki glanced down the bar. Owen and the girl both had bottles of a Midgardian beer he didn’t recognize, and in the middle the purple-haired person had a mixed drink with a frilly umbrella and sugar on the rim.

The bartender passed over a glass cup and Loki took a sip. It wasn’t bad. Rum maybe. It was actually quite good, if he was being honest.

“You’re the new one, ain’tcha?” asked the bartender. “Name’s Hayden. Did you really fall out of the sky?”

“Loki. And yes.” He took another drink of the rum.

“How?”

This question had been asked several times, and Loki had nearly perfected his nonchalant shrug. He practiced it again. As most everyone before him, Hayden accepted this, gave his own nonchalant shrug, and went back to polishing glasses.

On Owen’s other side, the person with the purple hair leaned over the bar to look Loki up and down. They smiled with glitter-lipsticked lips and bright eyes. “So you’re our new arrival.” Their voice was as androgynous as the rest of them, and they extended a hand across the bar. Their nails were painted in glittery gold. Loki took it. “I’m Julius. The blacksmith, and the jeweler’s assistant.”

Of the professions Loki might have guessed, blacksmith was not one of them. Evidently his surprise showed because Julius started laughing. “Yes, I get that reaction.” They flashed a smile. “I’m a man. So that you don’t have to ask. No one ever knows how to.”

“Ah. Yes.” Loki gave a bland smile. “And who else?”

The blond leaned in and waved with her bottle. “Kathy.”

“Kathy gets free drinks,” said Owen. “Hayden’s her dad.”

Kathy grinned unapologetically. “How’re you settling in, stranger?”

“This place is…” He considered. “Not what I expected.”

“Yeah.” She chuckled. “Guessin’ you’re a mainlander then. Somehow. We haven’t had any mainlanders visit in a _long_ time. The ones who do come here usually go for Oak Tree, or the Islands. More touristy.”

“I’m hardly a tourist.”

“Got that right. You’re in Miss Molly’s old place, aren’t you?” Loki nodded. “Bet it’s a lotta work to be done. Need any help with that?”

Loki started and set down his cup, looking down the bar at the trio. “Are you offering?”

“Hell yeah, it’s somethin’ to do,” said Kathy. “Boys?”

Owen shrugged. “I’m game.”

“I can’t say I’ll be much help, but I’ll do my best,” Julius chirped.

For a moment, Loki felt a genuine smile tug at the corner of his mouth. He squashed it quickly. “I—thank you.”

“No prob, Bob.”

“…It’s Loki.”

Kathy started laughing. “Hey, I like you! Can we keep him?”

“Keep me?” The fact that Loki had no idea what she meant was mildly alarming. Owen patted him on the back.

“C’mon, next round’s on me.”

 

-O-

 

There was a lot of work to be done.

Loki found some properly-sized tools in a shed, and he put on Hana’s gloves and sunhat to survey the property. The sweatshirt he draped over the banister. He should probably wash it but he wasn’t sure how.

Finally, it occurred to him that this was just too big a problem for any real plan of attack. He marched off the porch and to the shed side of the house, where a large tangle of what looked like blackberry bushes was fighting the weeds for dominance. After looking it over for a moment, he adjusted the sleeves on his shirt to tuck under the gloves and dove in.

Loki worked on the blackberry patch for some time. The sun was high overhead when he heard a polite little cough from behind him. He turned and looked up at the smiley brunette above him. “Hullo, Renee.”

Her smile grew wider. “Hello, Loki. You’re doing well?”

“Mm.” Loki stood, peeling off his gloves. “What brings you up here?”

“I brought lunch.” She grinned and produced a picnic basket.

They had a picnic on the bare floorboards, Renee’s little quilt covering the splinters. Loki devoured two sandwiches and was midway through a third when he heard Renee’s quiet giggles and looked up with an eyebrow raised, his mouth full of egg salad.

“What?” he mumbled. Renee laughed again. He was rapidly learning that she had a rather nice laugh.

“You’re new to this kind of work.”

“Yes, well, you _knew_ that.” He reached for one of the little thermoses of lemonade. “What of it?”

“You’re gonna be tired tomorrow.” She snickered and took a neat bite of her own sandwich.

“I’m tired right now.”

They didn’t talk much more, but the silence was more companionable than awkward. Loki mentioned the trio from the bar and Renee told him that they’d likely decided to adopt him, and that as friends went he could hardly do better; she updated him on her parents, and warned him to expect Cain to hover and Hana to mother.

Loki helped her pack up the thermoses and blankets and sandwich container before walking her to the door. She ran down the path to her house as Loki pulled his gloves and boots back on, eyeing up the blackberry patch.

Yes, he would have to convince her family to come along if he left. It would be a fair trade if nothing else.

 

-O-

 

There was no library, but the schoolmaster was willing to let Loki borrow some books on farming. When he asked where the books filling everyone’s shelves had come from, Hana explained that technical manuals and other things published on the island came from the one town with a printing press, and that outside books often made their way to the market at Oak Tree.

He read up on farming, on weather patterns and planting times and practical mechanics. Hana gifted him a cookbook; Renee, a collection of children’s tales. The local priests, Nathan and Perry, came by to give him a religious text that Loki set aside.

Two months had passed since Loki fell in the cabbage patch.

He cleared out a decent part of the garden while the weather was chilly. When spring arrived, Cain began his work and so did Loki.

It was smaller scale. More of a garden. Turnips, potatoes, lettuces, cabbage. Tomatoes and corn in pots to nurture until the last frost. Owen fixed up the chicken coop and Loki bought two hens from Hana with money made doing odd jobs.

The house itself gained a proper bed with a comfortable quilt, a table that didn’t shake and some charmingly mismatched chairs, a wardrobe, and an armchair in the library. Loki’s growing collection of proper clothes started to overtake Owen’s hand-me-downs. He did the wash on Wednesdays with the old washing machine Cain installed for him in the cellar and hung clothes out to dry on the line.

It was all very _domestic_.

 

-O-

 

Loki realized things had gone very off track when he realized that he had a regular order at the Brass Bar and knew most of the townsfolk on sight.

 

-O-

 

On Asgard, had Loki wanted to court anyone he would have had a lot of traditions to adhere to, standard presents to gift, and elaborate rituals to follow.

He took Renee out to row around in the mountain lake near his house.

“What’s this?”

“It’s a rowboat.”  
“What’s it for?”

“It’s for to row.”

Perhaps more accurately, Renee took him.

She extended a hand. “Help me in.”

Loki obliged and they stepped into the rowboat. Renee unfolded a pale yellow parasol that matched her dress and sat on one end. “Now you row.”

“Anything else?” He pushed off the bank with a paddle.

“Well, traditionally, you serenade me.” She blinked and fluttered her eyelashes coquettishly. “Serenade me!”

Loki sang a lullaby in Old Norse, then, just to annoy her, a Midgardian pop song about California beaches and women in high-cut shorts. Renee giggled the whole way through, twirling her parasol. “A beautiful serenade.”

“Indeed. You serenade me now; I feel as though I am doing all of the work.”

Renee sang a song about a little star and apparently found it funny when Loki expressed his enjoyment. Midgardians were so very strange.

It—well. It wasn’t a bad thing. Not really.

 

-O-

 

Spring was in full bloom. Loki had a small flower garden against the porch that was threatening to encroach upon the railings; he was pruning the roses when Renee came once more down the path.

Loki quickly clipped a white rose, hiding it behind his back. When Renee bounded up he flashed her a smile. “Renee. What brings you here?”

“I wanted to talk to you,” she chirped, holding out the picnic basket Loki had grown familiar with.

He smiled and motioned her towards the door. She used the blanket as a tablecloth and Loki gave her the rose, which she fussed over enormously.

“Your place looks….nice,” she said finally, looking around.

Loki rolled his eyes. “It looks empty.”

“We have a carpenter, you know. You could get more.”

“I’ve got enough for now.”

The farmhouse had no real personal touches, and Loki knew Renee could tell. Of course, the circumstances of his arrival were well-known and much-wondered-over, so he did have an _excuse_.

The next day, Loki went down to Simon’s camera shop and searched through his collection of negatives from the past three months. Finally, he found a decent one of himself, Owen, Julius, and Kathy at the bar. The other three were playing for the camera, with Loki in the background giving a fond yet exasperated smile. It looked as if he belonged there.

He paid Simon to develop and frame it, and sat it on his bedside table. Renee came over again three days later and smiled at him when she noticed it.

 

-O-

 

In May, Loki finally attended one of the many festivals the town adored. Up in the churchyard, garlands and flower arches filled the court, every inch draped in soft pastel blossoms and twinkling fairy lights.

Loki’s drinking companions waved him over to their blanket when they saw him. They had another, too—Candace, a soft-spoken girl dressed all in blue who worked at the tailor. Julius sat close to her, their hands overlapping.

Loki took a seat and picked up one of the flower-shaped meringues on a china platter. “Lovely night.”

“Where’s Renee?” asked Kathy.

Loki looked at her, faintly puzzled. “…I imagine with her family. Why are you asking me?”

“What, you didn’t invite her?” Julius looked rather scandalized, hand over his heart as if he was going to faint.

“No. Should I have?”

“Well…” Owen gave a loose shrug. “We all kinda, y’know. Assumed you two were a thing.”

“I—no.” Loki shook his head. “No thing. Totally thing-less.”

“You took her out in a rowboat.”

“I thought that was a friendly overture.”

“ _Particular_ friends, maybe.” Kathy shook her head. “You’re all hopeless.”

Loki was rather lost. It was an unpleasant feeling to say the least. He gave Kathy an uncertain look. “Should I invite her to sit with us?”

Kathy wolf-whistled and Julius shoved him. “Go get her!”

He stumbled up and made his way over to where Renee sat with her parents. They all looked up as he approached and Loki shifted nervously. “Ah. Renee—would you like to come join my companions and I?”

Renee looked to her mother, who nodded, and then back at Loki. “I’d love to.”

The six of them talked about Candace’s work, and the festival’s origins, and Julius’s aunt Mira who had finally left the house what with the death of her husband and all. They smiled for the camera when Simon came around, Owen draping an arm around Loki’s shoulders and pulling him forward. They ate all the snacks and wondered aloud whether that doctor had ever proposed to Anissa from the farm next to Renee’s house or if he got cold feet.

When it was almost midnight, Loki found himself, Owen, Julius, and Kathy as the last people in the churchyard. Renee had left at eleven, Candace at ten. He stood and brushed himself off. “Er…thank you. For making me invite Renee.”

Owen laughed. “What are friends for if not to make you deal with your obvious crush on the girl next door?”

“Friends?”

“Yeah.” Kathy rolled her eyes. “ _Duh._ ”

Friends.

Loki thought about this all the way home and all through his chores the next day. When Simon stopped by and gave him a parcel, and Loki unwrapped it to see the photograph of last night, he stopped thinking about it.

Owen’s eyes were closed, an arm around the shoulders of Loki himself, looking nervous but smiling. Kathy was in the center and furthest back, giving him and Julius bunny ears. Julius was pressed cheek to cheek with Candace, and Renee was front and center, one hand on Loki’s knee.

Yeah. Friends. Even, as Kathy would say, _duh._


	3. Chapter Two: How To Fail At Getting Off A Miserable Rock (Without Even Trying)

 

Loki had a new plan.

He had grown familiar with the island’s latent magic, and he was fairly sure he could harness it with some runes and a rudimentary summoning circle.

He brought a piece of chalk up to the bluff, and a sharpened stick. In his pocket was a carving knife he’d borrowed from the carpenter’s son under the pretense of minor work—though given how often that boy simply stood outside swinging an axe, he probably didn’t need much of a pretense. Might’ve asked to watch, come to think of it.

He ignored the white cat sitting haughtily on the lighthouse steps and drew the circle in the dirt with the stick and chalk, casting a few runes for luck—he wasn’t sure the cantrips would work without _his_ magic, but it couldn’t hurt. It took nearly ten minutes to get it perfect from memory. Loki was alarmed to realize that he couldn’t recall as easily as he used to the different ritual drawings—he’d never used them, but he’d always _remembered_ them.

He made a small nick to his temple and caught a decent amount of blood in his palm before slapping on a bandage and hiding it under his hair. He used to know sorcerers who cut their palms, but that was a terrible idea. Only rarely did you get enough blood and you risked damaging crucial nerves and muscles in the hand.

Loki mixed the blood with the chalk and stood inside the circle, closing his eyes. To channel the island’s magic would require intense focus with no interruptions and—

_“Mr. Loki, are you playing hopscotch?!”_

Loki’s concentration shattered and he turned to the source of the noise. “No,” he said sharply.

The little girl standing there—Owen’s niece Chloe—looked crestfallen. “Aw. I wanted to play. What is it, then?”

“…It’s something.” Loki glared at her and crossed his arms. “Why don’t you go play with your friend with the hat? Pablo?”

“ _Paolo_. And I was gonna, but he’s not here and you are.” Chloe sat on the lighthouse steps and kicked her legs. “So what is it? It looks like hopscotch.”

Loki threw his hands up in the air. “It’s magic.”

“Oh! Like the Wizard!”

 

-O-

 

So it turned out that the locked and abandoned house on an upper tier of the town wasn’t actually all that locked or abandoned. Or, well, it was locked. But Loki followed Chloe’s instructions, and around two in the morning, he slipped out of the house and down the road to town.

Upstairs and around he went until he stood outside the strange house. It had a tower. Loki found himself mildly jealous. It was a _nice_ tower.

He balanced the thermos he’d brought and knocked on the door.

There was no answer, and for a moment Loki wondered if Chloe had wanted to trick him. Then the door opened.

A dark-skinned man with silvery-blond hair blinked at him. “Oh,” he said after a second. “You’re him. The Old One. I’ve been expecting you, come in.”

Loki entered, more than a bit hesitant, and handed him the thermos of coffee. “You know about…”

“Who you are? Yes, Loki of Asgard. I know how you fell and why you have moved yourself away from what was pulling you to end up here.” His stare was haunting with his mismatched eyes. Loki felt very uncomfortable.

“And how do you know all of that?”

“The Witch Princess of the Fugue Forest heard it from a sprite who was told it by the Goddess. She then told me.”

Loki shook his head, sitting in the armchair the Wizard had guided him to. “I—kindly back up. Goddess? Witch Princess? Why did you call me an _Old One_?”

The Wizard looked thoughtful. “Perhaps we’d best start a bit further back. Your history is entwined in ours in ways you don’t yet know….”

 

-O-

 

_The Elder Continent, 1657; The Kingdom of Norad_

When Freyja married Arthur, they all agreed it was getting kind of cramped in the castle and so her brother and his wife moved out to live in the forest, beat up monsters, and carry messages to and from the inner towns of the kingdom.

The war was over, so Freyja and Arthur had to do actual governing of their territory. The king left them to their own devices, and there were still monsters that hadn’t made their way to the camp near Sharance. Things were good.

Until the day Aquaticus arrived.

Freyja was sent to speak with him, her brother and his wife acting as guards. Aquaticus was said to be kind, but they’d heard stories of his brothers and their lack of kindness.

“What do you require of us, Lord?” asked Freyja, crouched down by the lake.

GODLING. His voice rumbled as Venti’s once had. TIMES ARE COMING TO AN END.

Freyja shot up in alarm. “I—how did you—did you hear this from the Allfather—“

NOT ALL TIMES. BUT TIME FOR MAGIC ON MIDGARD. A CATACLYSM SHALL DESTROY THIS CONTINENT, FORETOLD BY MY PRIESTESS SONJA. THERE SHALL BE NO SURVIVORS AND MIDGARD WILL LOSE ITS MAGIC.

“I—what do you expect _us_ to do?” Freyja asked, rather desperate. “We’re fallen gods, we cannot save this land.”

  1. BUT YOU CAN SAVE SOMETHING.



 

Earthquakes, storms, and blight and plague ravaged the land. Selphia was quarantined while Freyja and Freyr gathered what they needed.

They could not save the Elder Continent or its dozens of unique kingdoms, the hundred thousand sentient beings within. Instead, they secured the territory.

Centering from the Sharance Tree, Freyja and Freyr used their ancient knowledge to rework the magic of the land and create an island of safety around the tree. Tirelessly they worked, adding runes and cantrips and spells. And when the storms raged still, they used the last of the godly power they’d saved and called upon an ancient power source.

The final storm arrived. Freyja and Freyr had done what they could.

People died, even on their safe island, because it still stormed. The magic of the lands that fell into the sea escaped to the center and filled the tree.

When it ran out of space, it sought out the fallen gods.

 

Sometime later, the island awoke.

Some humans had survived—almost a thousand in all. No monsters had. Instead, the dying souls of the magical beings had sought out and bonded to the ancient power sources, creating guardians—sprites.

The girl who had once been Freyja-called-Selphia woke up in lakes. All lakes; every lake. The boy who had once been Freyr-called-Ignis woke up atop the tallest mountain.

The Elder Continent, 1658, centered around an enormous tree, and its goddess and king began to watch.

 

-O-

 

“Your history and our history are ever entwined,” said the Wizard. “Fallen gods created castanet and the Sunshine Isles, and saved its magic by putting into a cycle. The Bells and their Sprites provide for the land. The land provides for the tree, the tree provides for the Goddess, the Goddess provides for the King, and the King provides for the Bells. And they were your sort. Old Ones. Ones from long ago.”

“Not that long ago, me,” said Loki. “Your 1100s. And don’t take my word on it, I was young when those two were banished, but I believe they were born right around the time of the mainlander’s Jesus Christ.”

“Ah,” said the Wizard. “Why were they banished?”

“Why not ask them?”

The Wizard shook his head. “It’s been four hundred years. And in that time, they’ve forgotten.”

“How do you know?”

“I was there, and as I’m not omnipotent, I have not drifted into timelessness.” He didn’t elaborate. Loki frowned.

“Well, they stole things. From my father, the king—Odin. Well, I thought he was my father, but that’s not the point. He was willing to let it go until he learned they’d tried to take a particularly world-ending artefact. He cast them out without a means of return.”

“I see. And why are you here? In my house, that is, not in general.”

“I don’t like accepting fate.” Loki smiled. “I intend to leave and retrieve my magic. A true Armageddon is approaching, Wizard, and I don’t want to be on the planet when it does.”

“You’re sure?”

“Quite sure.” Loki rose. “May I come by again? You’re pleasant company.”

“Keep bringing me coffee and you can come by anytime.”

“I’ll be back for my thermos, at least.”

The night air was clear and warm, crickets chirping and fireflies lighting up the sky. Loki strolled back to the farmhouse at a leisurely pace, hands in his jacket pockets, face turned up to watch the stars.

 

-O-

 

Loki and Renee were enjoying a perfectly fine summer afternoon on the beach when they found the dog.

Renee was teaching Loki to fish off the docks, insisting it was a valuable life skill. Loki had caught two waterlogged rubber Wellingtons, a great deal of seaweed, and a sardine. Renee had caught several members of a school of mackeral and was laughing at Loki.

“Oh, because you were perfect the first time you tried fishing?” asked Loki, trying to untangle seaweed from his lure.

“I was! I was a natural.” Renee gave him a toothy grin. “Everyone said so. True fishing prodigy of the island.”

Loki elbowed her, then paused. “Did you hear that?”

“Nope. What is it?”

“It’s gone now. Shhh.” Renee shushed and Loki listened intently. “This way.”

They abandoned their poles and Loki dragged Renee down the beach, holding her hand. They hopped along some rocks and a jetty until Loki noticed a cave in the dark rocks that made up the island.

“In here.”

“Are you sure this is safe?”

“Oh, when have I ever been _unsafe_?”

Renee rolled her eyes, but went obligingly into the cave.

It was fairly shallow, only extending about twenty yards. Loki and Renee’s galoshes splashed in the ankle deep water that covered the cave floor. The walls glistened in the dampness, and perhaps with something else—fragments of quartz, perhaps.

The two laughed as Loki kicked up water and Renee made him twirl her around. They almost forgot why they’d come until a howl echoed through the cave.

Loki released Renee’s hand and made his way over to the back of the cave, pulling aside ropes and rocks from a decaying boat. He let out an abrupt shout. “Renee! Come!”

Renee headed over, looking around Loki at the shaking border collie with matted fur that cowered in the rotting wood. She cooed. “A _dog_!”

“Well, obviously. He’s frightened, help me get him out of here.”

With much coaxing, Loki and Renee lured the border collie onto the beach and from there to the boardwalk. Loki shed his flannel jacket and didn’t notice Renee’s admiration of his bare arms and black T-shirt as he dried the shaking dog off.

They took it—her—back to Loki’s house. Renee helped wash the collie in a tub on the porch with a hose; Loki phoned Dale, the carpenter, who came by with a bag of food, an old collar, and a leash.

“What are you gonna name her?” asked Renee.

Loki looked mildly alarmed. “Name her? Renee, I’m not _keeping_ her.”

“Well, Mama’s allergic to dogs so _I_ can’t. It’s you or the cave.”

Loki now looked a bit as if he’d been hit by a train. A train carrying dogs. “Perhaps Chloe would like a dog.”

“Oh, yes, her grandfather would be over the moon about that. You should name her Poppy.”

“Or Charlie,” said Dale.

“Napoleon,” said Loki, just to be contrary. “Augustus. Or Hannibal.”

“Boy’s names.”

“Lia, Auggie, Hanna.”

“My mother’s name is Hana.”

“Then she shall be pleased to have a pet named for her!”

“Freya,” said Dale. “It matches your weird-ass name. Or Sigyn or Sif or Athena or Frigga.”

Loki stiffened. “Athena is Greek,” said Renee.

They named the dog Friday and she turned out to be a great help in herding the chickens, whose number had increased to four, the two ducks, and the newly acquired goat that Renee called “fussbudget” and Loki called “that thing.”

 

-O-

 

“So are you actually going to ask Renee out sometime this century?”

Apparently Loki’s best scandalized look gave Kathy her answer, because she started laughing and swatted his shoulder. “Goddess and king, Loki, you’ve got to teach me how to make that face. You look like someone kicked your dog off a bridge but also like you’re Julius, and they were wearing….I don’t know, a lipstick that didn’t compliment their socks.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Loki. “If somebody kicked Friday off a bridge I may thank them. She keeps sleeping on me.”

“Renee wouldn’t like that.”

“I don’t care what Renee likes.”   
“You’re a liii-ar,” Kathy singsonged.

“I _don’t_.” He took a drink of his beer. Kathy looked dubious. “I have no feelings for Renee.”

“What about friendship?”

“I…have no _romantic_ feelings for Renee.”

“That I could believe. She does for you, thought.”

“No, she doesn’t,” Loki said as matter-of-factly as he could manage. “Renee is a dear friend of mine. I would certainly know if she harbored any infatuation.”

Kathy looked at him like he was covered in lobsters. “Loki, if Renee did a full on musical number about her undying adoration for you wearing a pinstripe suit and a bowler hat, you wouldn’t recognize her _infatuation_.”

“I most certainly would,” Loki protested. “That behavior is highly out of character.”

Kathy released a frustrated sigh, her brow furrowing. “That’s not the point. Go ask anyone—Renee _really_ likes you. The actual question is, what are you going to do about it?”

“…flee the country?” Loki suggested.   
“ _No_.”

“…you know, you’ve got the scandalized look down fairly well. Why copy mine?”

Kathy threw a bar peanut at him.

 

-O-

 

The long, hot days and firefly-lit nights of summer were drawing to a close. Loki and his company of drinking companions had visited Renee’s ranch one August evening to float boats down the river in remembrance of the dead, and convened on Loki’s porch with beers afterward.

Two bottles in and Loki was beginning to feel pleasantly buzzed. He popped the cap off a third as Julius started a ghost story, and by the time he reached a man’s hand hook caught in the car door, he’d nearly finished it off.

Owen stopped laughing and took a gulp of his (fourth) bottle, grinning. “Okay, okay. I’ve got one. My buddy on the mainland told me this one, but it’s not quite a ghost story, here we go.” He cleared his throat.

“So we’re about midway through the mainlander’s World War Two, this is in their, uh, Germany or Norway. Either way, Nazi occupation up in the mountains, mostly scientists.

“They’ve been sending the same squadron out to each base, ‘cause they really get the job done. In and out, look great doing it. They’ve taken back most of the mountains like this.

“So they’re sent out once again, same old drill as always. And in this group there’s one guy who spent some time as a war prisoner and refused to go home. That’s important.

“They hitch a ride on a cargo train to get out to the base, but the guards get wind of it and start shooting. They’re running and ducking for cover, and one of them, the ex-POW, slips and falls off the train as they’re passing over a gorge.  
“But.” Owen lowered his voice. “They’d done stuff to the guy, up in that camp. Weird stuff. So when he hit the ground, all broken up and bleeding, he doesn’t die. He pulls himself up and starts wandering, keeps going in circles—and he’s still up there, rotting away but alive, stuck at the end of a war that ended seventy-odd years ago.”

Silence reigned for a moment, then Kathy spoke. “That’s a bullshit story. In seventy years he’d have made it out of the mountains. That’s a _lot_ of time.”

Owen punched her arm. “It’s a _story_! You got a better one?”

Kathy chuckled and took a swig of her beer. “Nah. Loki?”

They all looked at him. Loki looked at the empty beer bottles, then shrugged and settled against the porch post. “Alright. Here’s one I learned from a man who’s dead now.”

He cleared his throat. “There was a king of a land, and his wife, and they had in total four sons. The eldest had rejected the throne out of a desire to be a great warrior of the land, and the king made him general of the army. The next had died tragically at a young age after being gifted a plant he was deathly allergic to. And so the third child rapidly approached the age at which he was to take the throne.”

“You sure this is a ghost story?” Julius asked, one eyebrow arching to his hairline.

“It _is_. Be patient. The youngest son thought highly of the two eldest brothers, and he himself did not care to rule a kingdom, but he was clever and quick and on a path to become an advisor. But as the two grew older, he saw that his brother was brash and arrogant, unfit to be king. He had to learn, and so he hatched a plan to prove his brother unworthy of the throne and set him on the path to become worthy.

“He hires mercenaries. Not any mercenaries, mercenaries specifically from the country which their kingdom had long been at war with. He instructs them to break into the vaults and steal an artefact which had once belonged to their country. He gives them the date of a grand party, when the guard will be lax, and he waits.

“All goes as planned. His brother behaves rashly as expected and the king declares him unfit for the throne. But from there it goes downhill—his brother nearly gets his companions killed, taking them to attack the other country. He is banished, and the youngest takes the throne. In the throes of jealousy and madness, he nearly ruins everything, and ultimately throws himself from an old bridge.

“Now here is your ghost story, Julius.” Loki raised his eyebrows at his friend, who tried to punch his arm. “A year later the royal family receives news. A man bearing a startling resemblance to their deceased youngest has stolen a dangerous weapon kept across the globe. The brother sets out to see if it is so, and he finds this to be true. But after returning the weapon, partway through the trip back, the man disappears. His shackles sit where he was, still locked—but he has vanished without a trace.

“They haven’t heard anything since. But the royal family still sits in fear, knowing he will surface again, the vengeful corpse of their youngest trapped in jealousy and anger…”

Silence for a moment. Then Julius spoke. “That was a shitty ghost story.”

“What? It was _not_!”

“It barely had a ghost in it! And it only threatened that family! The whole point of a ghost story is how everyone is in danger!”

“I’m fairly certain that the _whole point_ of a ghost story is _it has a ghost in it_.”

Owen and Kathy’s eyes moved back and forth like they were watching a cutthroat game of ping-pong. The argument didn’t stop until they went inside and Julius passed out in the library armchair, the other three dogpiled onto the bed.

And so it went.

 

-O-

 

“Loki?”

“Hm?” He could feel the wizard’s eyes on him, but he didn’t look up from his book.

“I haven’t sensed any use of the island’s magic lately.”

“Interesting.”

“I sensed it frequently in the months after your arrival."

“Is that so?” His tone was carefully measured.

“Mmhm.” The Wizard flipped a page in his book. “How are your friends?”

“Quite well.”

“And Renee?”

“She is well.” Loki underlind something in his book. “Is there a point to this?”

“Oh, no no. I just thought you might be interested.”

“Ah. Yes.”

And so it went.

 

-O-

 

And it may have gone like that forever, if Dr. Stephen Strange didn’t notice the fake Infinity Stones.


End file.
